Storm
by FairyHunter
Summary: A storm an unstable mind an imagined, or is it, struggle. Deranged!Angelinecentric. Oneshot.


**Storm.**

A storm, a storm. Rain, lightning, thunder. It's usually so quiet up here at night that I jump when it begins. The droplets pounding on the roof drown out Their frightening whispers. But the rain also reminds me of little footsteps; I fear that They are coming ever nearer with each falling raindrop and I pull the covers over my head as far as they will go without exposing my bare feet.

A flash of light! It is visible even through the drawn curtains and bed sheets. I whimper quietly. The sudden illumination remains burned onto my eyes for a few seconds. How I used to love the light and how I used to be so very unseeing. I didn't realize that They were here – had been here the whole time – until only a year or two ago.

Clouds collide creating a terrific sound. I clap my hands to my ears as the skies clamor. It is louder than the world splitting in two! However, I find that it replaces the whispers and footsteps. For a few seconds, I pretend that They exist only in my mind. I do not make to hide under the covers which I dropped when I was covering my ears.

The rumbling of the thunder subsides. Suddenly, They are real again, and They are telling me quietly about how They plan to hurt me and my Arty.

Lightning again. I shriek! I see Them, surrounding my bed. Motionless. Waiting. And then all is dark. The image of Them takes a few blinks to dissipate completely from my vision. Their picture is more lasting in my mental eye, though. I scream until They are hidden once more. They want me, They want to kill me.

Thunder is longer in coming this time. I wait, like my predators. I wait to be free of Them in those seconds of intense sound. It comes, covering up the rain's illusion of footsteps and the ever present mutterings of the monsters. Reprieve. I know it is only momentary, but I love it nonetheless. I close my eyes and sigh. They are gone.

Brightness floods my room for a third time. I notice that They have moved infinitesimally closer. They torture me with Their slowness. Oftentimes I wish they moved faster so that I do not have to endure this painful waiting for what I know to be the inevitable. At those times, I am selfishly hoping that my own suffering will end, without a care about the identical fate of my son. But it is not so at the moment: I am grateful, because the delay means a longer period of blissful ignorance for my dear Arty.

The noise, oh the noise. The recurring thunder hurts me even as it helps me. I leave my ears uncovered, hands by my side twitching to do the opposite. I imagine that a door opens and then closes. My mind seems to want me to be in constant fear. I tell myself that the thunder is the only sound in the world. I ignore my own thoughts.

Raining footsteps. I unwillingly envision that something is coming up the stairs, Their movements almost-but-not-quite cloaked by the downpour.

Something touches my arm, lightning flashes, and I scream, all at the same time. I hit and kick and bite, as my fear turns to fury. The wait is over, for me and Them both. They have finally chosen a moment to attack and I have finally been given the chance to fight back. I fight for Arty, I fight for Timmy. My family does not know what is coming after them, but I do. I have to defend my Artemises against the monsters.

When Timmy was around, They were kept at bay by his mere presence. I suppose after he was… after, They sensed the weakness of a distressed woman and her young child and They began Their creeping advance.

I continue to flail my arms inexpertly until my opponent stops moving. I lay back down on my bed, unable to remember standing up.

The thunder is even more distant this time. The storm is ending. I cry, my falling tears a parallel to the rain. I want to know whether my Arty is safe, whether he managed to fight his way past an adversary or if he had not been attacked at all. I wonder if They will ever stop pursuing us. I wonder if there is any hope for us.

Now I can only hear Their footsteps. There are so many more of Them that are still alive. I am disheartened because my triumph was a small one.

Flash. I see Its body on the ground. It looks like my Arty. I cry again because It looks so much like him. They have used tricks like this before. They take on the appearance of my loved ones so that I won't fear Them or hurt Them, but I know better.

The storm ends. Worriedly, I hope the storm didn't keep my Arty awake.

* * *

A/N: Response to Crim's Nov-Dec Challenge.

Feedback and con crit arealways mostwelcome!

Support the Orion Awards!


End file.
